Bittersweet Composition
by junkienicky
Summary: "The sand timer's running out and we're getting older, kid. Our time behind these fucked-up four walls ain't gonna last forever." Short fics/one shots of Nicky/Lorna. Some will be based around AUs, others not. Chapters may contain descriptions of violence, smut, inappropriate humor, death and unrequited attraction. Warnings will be applied where necessary.
1. Thunderclaps

**Disclaimer:** I do not own OITNB or its characters.

 **Author's Note:** Waddup, so now I'm primarily focusing more on one shots and dabbles as opposed to full length fics, but that's not to say come chapters won't be pretty lengthy, if you consider anything above 4K words to be that... For the time being, I'm keeping the rating explicit because I don't know how in-depth I'm going to get with some of my chapters. This one is a short and I thought of it when... I was having a migraine _(badum tsss)_. I'll stop. I have lots of ideas for the time being - hoopeefully that does not change. I don't know how many chapters this will consist of. Maybe lots, maybe not. We'll see. You can prompt me requests my ask box on tumblr too if you have ideas; junkienicky. I can't guarantee that it'll be great since I've only just gotten right back into writing and I'm already cringing at half my trash as it is, but I shall try my hardest to complete any request(s). This will probably flop but I'll keep writing for those few souls encouraging me lol. Any feedback is greatly appreciated. If you prefer, you can read my works on AO3 too. Like I said, this one is short and I apologize for that, though my next one will be a **lot** longer _(fingers crossed)_.

* * *

"Are you okay there?" Lorna tenses her body up and peers across to the woman's body, slumped on her bed, burrowed under the pillow in her cube. She groans back something missable and comprehensive. Nicky Nichols doesn't believe in sickness. Sickness is for pussies. Only, it wasn't necessarily sickness, but a migraine. Thunderclaps and lightning storming the clouded part of her brain each time she shifts her body to try and gain comfort from the paper-thin prison "pillow." Lorna places down her magazine to move closer, with concern carefully sketched upon her features; she observes closer. Brushing her blonde curls back behind her ears to reveal an agitated, pierced face, with skewed eyelids and a creased forehead. Nicky grumbles, the gravel in her voice expressing the pain that continuously pounds every time she so much as breathes.

"You gotta headache?" She asks in a mere quiet tone, assessing Nicky's discomfort. "Mmhh. Fuckin' stockpile of meds ran out. Don't wanna move, or I'll puke in my fuckin' mane and I'm sure you don't what that shit all over your bunk." She admits, wincing with gritted teeth. Lorna exhales a soft, sympathetic chuckle whilst reaching out to delicately tug at the soft curls of her copper-blonde hair. "You want some of my Aspirin before we gotta get up for count?" A sharp inhale sparks response, clenching her arms around her skull in pain and Lorna furrows her brows. She moves to trace her thumbs along the softness her left cheek, then places the back of her hand across her heated forehead. Beaded with tiny balls of sweat and rising heat. "You've got a bit of a temperature there. Sure you don't want me to quickly get you a cold compress from Red?"

"No, no." Nicky sighs, eyes rolling at the instinctive pain. "Just… Stay here. Keep me company. Don't make Red worry about nothing." It sounds like a plea, and so Lorna parks next to her on the bunk for her to lean closer and peck a kiss on her temple. "Alright."

"Thought you didn't believe in getting sick?" She teases, playing with the palm of Nicky's hand and tracing her fingers along the faded creases. "Or didn't the philosopher see it comin' this time round?" Her fingertips catch through the lugs of junctions in the blonde's hair as she smoothly brushes in and out of it in repeating rounds. Caressing her head gently to try and manoeuvre some special kind of massage. "Nice try, kid." Nicky croaks. "Not even a fucking leaf rake can slog through this shit." She laughs, hoping Lorna doesn't stop.


	2. Broken Appliance

**Summary:** There's always something broken in Litchfield. And there's always something Lorna wants. Smut.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own OITNB or its characters.

 **Author's Note:** Okay, so I don't usually write this shit. Mainly because I prefer to write a story and I just end up making myself cringe writing smut. But nonetheless, I went forth and did it anyway. I apologize where there's parts it seems OOP and does not flow. This will be the last smut I write in a long time, I will say that. Unless someone requests it but probably not. Anyway, I have began the next chapter already so it should but up in a few days/maybe a week? We'll see. Feedback would be appreciated. I hope you enjoy this.

* * *

Jane is a stubborn little bitch. Granted, most humongous, mechanical, supposed-to-work pieces of shit are. But Jane was _exceptionally_ stubborn. And Nicky it **not** calling it one of Luschek's hand-picked profoundly cringey names like "Jane." She was headed towards breakfast before the half-arsed, neck-bearded, lazy asshole decided to aggravate her already detritus mood worse for matters. Jane needed to be fixed so Caputo would get off his back and he could get back to sitting on his lazy ass doing fuck-all. That's the way Nicky perceives it. It's not even her work day.

Her tool belt grips around her waist, as she mumbles the circling frustrations, making her way towards laundry. The effort just to walk there grates on her like the smell of the weak juice they get served every meal. It reeks like cat piss, and it's rich enough to make your stomach do somersaults. Nicky swears on J. Ross Moore's life that tumble dryers are the most infuriating, enflaming bastards to actually get a grip on to manage to fix the fucker. It makes matters worse when the implanted blots she strives to loosen, are too large for the collection of spanners available at hand in her belt. It's only five minutes before she's already breaking a sweat, cursing and yelling "fuck you(s)!" to the useless clank of machinery.

She schemes to abandon the uncompleted task, and leave some other shmuck to figure this shit out. There's only so much patience Nicky has in a day. In prison. And "Jane" had just about thoroughly worn it out, like her old leather boots left out in the rain. Only metres away, Lorna approaches laundry; arms swinging like she's been hit with a gentle summer breeze, and humming along her path to seek Nicky out. Even with her head rammed up some dryer, trying to locate its wiring, Nicky can recognize the humbling pinch of kind voice, and whom it belongs to. Lorna gazes, bemused at the sight of peculiar and humorous detail. Like the fact that Nicky's exclaiming angrily at an inanimate object, and how her ass sticks out of the doorway. Lorna clears her throat, for Nicky to chunter her last few half-worthy insults toward the dryer. She sighs, stumbling and almost tripping out from the door to uncomfortably shove the spanner back into the belt. Facing Lorna, she lets out an exasperating huff. "Know what? Janitorial sounds like a pretty fucking decent job after all. What's more barbaric? Mopping up mold around the tiled pits we have to shower in? Or getting this cunt to fucking work?"

"Don't even compare your job to mine, Nichols. You know how much faeces I get staring up at me 'cause the damn things don't flush?" Nicky cringes, scrunches her nose up and pulls a few of her hair strands out her view. "Ugh. Please. Less on the heavy detail. What brings you down here anyways? You miss me or somethin'?" She cocks a smirk at Lorna, following her eye-line down to her tool belt. "Well..." She begins, butterflies participant and blushes already bubbling up to flush her cheeks shades of red. It's still oddly remarkable how Nicky manages to maintain her smooth seductiveness that always swoons Lorna in, before she can even consider refraining herself. "Red wanted to know why you're not at breakfast. But I can see you're occupied with your friend here." Looking down, she chews on her lip - displaying the small dimples that give Nicky that all-too-known fuzzy feeling. "I had to fix this clump of shit, but it ain't having it. Maybe if Luschek would fuckin' pop up off his ass and try fixin' it himself…" Her tone fades off and she's left her glance peering into lustful, chocolate eyes.

It's an odd little routine, Nicky immediately picked up on upon first meeting the small, Italian woman. Lorna likes Nicky's tool belt. A lot. Maybe it's the tightness and weight of it that flaunts off her silhouette underneath the khakis. Or how it makes her look broad and substantial. Sometimes Lorna would scout out to just to pick her out in electrical. Observing her work in atmospheric conditions, or even when it was dead air. Nicky knew, obviously. Lorna was atrocious at hiding, and at keeping secrets, though it never bothered her in the damn slightest. Sometimes she'd sway in her sight, perk out her ass a little more for Lorna's desired view. It fed her ego, and they were both doing each other favours, to say the least. The grain of reality, was that they were both bored. Jaded by their in-and-out daily routines, it slumped on them as time ticked on. Time. All they both ever had enough of. Fucking time. Circling them. Reminding them. A constant reinforcement of the ever increasingly fucked-up life choices they stuck themselves up in. They allow themselves to collapse into one, because at least then, they felt less bored and blinded by the perplexity of bullshit prison life. And so, when their house of cards collided, they'd find themselves having grammar-issued arguments. It's fucking taught, not "teached." Fisting each other in the showers, like the way they fist out all those demonic illusions and increasing frustrations they gain in themselves whenever they felt like it. It was about coping. And just "coping" in prison, is considerably the only semi-decent feeling you could prone along with in this undomesticated environment. "That you eyeing me all up an' down I see?"

She makes a stance to provide for her wishful thinking. Imagining Lorna peering her up all promiscuously and suggestively could easily get her worked up in minutes. The openly appealing thought was gaining the flood of moisture to build up already, as she swirled the contraband gum around her mouth, before swallowing it with lustful eyes. It increasingly gained further spades of blushful thoughts to Lorna's mind. Crossing her legs tightly; Lorna's hips begin to feel weak, drowning herself into the blonde's dissipated words. She presses forward to roam her hands around the belt, for Nicky to slowly lunge herself forward in the grasp and hum against the lobe of her left ear. "So, what provoked you to really come down here, huh?" Lorna unclips the weighted belt to place it on top of "Maurice," before continuing to let her palms freely roam. "Jus' thought I could do with some company." It makes Nicky's pussy twitch; just watching Lorna's gesticulations through her movement, and the feeling of her wandering fingers. Nicky clutches hold of her crotch; an attempt to shift the juices and relieve the sensations brewing up. "You feel all tense, you need ta loosen up." She teases, in a mere whisper. Nicky grips harder, rubbing herself up the fabric of the prison issued panties to warm herself up in Lorna's words and wraith. "Oh yeah? Well 'm feeling pretty loose already. What's say you help me out 'n fix this broken appliance?" Her gravelly voice spills down, along with the heat of Lorna's breath to emit a soft, discreet groan. Lorna uncrosses her legs to allow to heat of her core to radiate, as she licks coyly at her bottom lip.

Pushing forward, Nicky clenches a hand around the brunette's waist, pressing her mouth onto hers. Pushing her tongue through the small gape Lorna leaves open, to add a mix of their saliva, there's a combination of meek moans. "Are you touchin' yourself?" Lorna gasps, looking down all giddy and a smirk quirks up Nicky's hungry lips; she respires heavily at her desirable thoughts. "It's you. Coming down here, being all frisky. Fuckin' turns me on." She husks, breathlessly, biting down hard on her lip and almost piercing it. She never attempted to hide the fact that she gets off fantasizing about Lorna in her bunk, middle of the night. Nor does Lorna, but only briefly lets it slip that she sometimes has sex dreams, riding out in the ocean. Nicky tries to interpret them in her sleep with her fingers dancing around the private parts of her body. "Oh, baby, you seem real stressed." Lorna teases again, breathily. Her clit throbbing and pulsating in her khakis as she gazes at the favorable sight. She withdraws Nicky's hand out from her pants and reverses the attention to her, placing both of her palms to rest upon the waistband of her own.

Nicky flashes a grin while her heart plummets and her own pussy yearns. She always loved when Lorna relentlessly begs and thirsts to be touched. It always rockets her own arousal; especially when she can increasingly feel her pants soak up more so. Lorna lifts her shirt up to allow easy access as her eyes dart back to Nicky's, pining her on to make a move. The taller woman lets out a quick breath of chuckle, before easing her hands to caress the soft skin of the stomach in her sight. Smoothing her hands up and around her waist, she plunges them into the khakis and feels around to tightly grip her ass through her underwear. Still restlessly holding up her shirt, Lorna's back arches up and she pants when Nicky squeezes and slaps at both cheeks. "You like that, don'tcha? You dirty fuckin' bird." She feeds into her dirt-talk, because neither are ashamed of it, and it always instigates Lorna to grip hold of her wrists. Tighter. Harder. An imploration to carry on. Don't stop. Go faster. She hums a word, Nicky elucidates as "yes." Pulling her hands fourth, the blonde lifts her tiny body onto a dryer and pulls the shirt over her head to reveal her prison-issued bra. She wastes no time unclasping it and engulfing her eyes onto Lorna's superlative breasts. It's hard to prevent the hic of laughter emitting from Nicky's lips. She knew exactly why Lorna headed down here, and plans to feast on every second of it. They wouldn't usually have sex in laundry. There's too many people, scrambling in and out. Too much array of chatter; meth heads debating over who'll get raptured first and who's in Jesus' good books. Although, this time of day it was conveniently peaceful; not even a collaborative rumble from the dryers. No one started work until after breakfast.

A moan evaporates from Lorna's lips, as the blonde trails her tongue along the hardening nipple on her right breast and she begins to suck harshly at it. She kneads and squeezes at the left for shared affection as Lorna hums; rolling her eyes at the tingling sensation. "I love your tits." Nicky mumbles in her husky manner, resulting in another stretched out groan from the brunette. She peppers kisses between the two before shifting her position down to her knees; fumbling at Lorna's beige pants to drag them partially down her short legs. Lorna's breath intensifies as Nicky's eyes lust upon her yet-to-be-revealed, heated area. A smug smirk quirks before she tugs at the underwear to come down and meet her pants halfway down her legs. Kissing was never really Nicky's forte, though that doesn't prevent her from leaving yet another lecherous connection on Lorna's mouth, before trailing her lips down to the pulse of her neck. She grips down hungrily with her teeth, and that's sure to leave a mark tomorrow. Not that Lorna's complaining about that right now. The brunette fists at a clump of Nicky's hair, arousing a moan from the latter. It's easy to say both were equally turning each other on at a ferocious level.

Her teeth leave Lorna's pulse point and she moves down to face her throbbing centre. The mix of heat from Nicky's breath is enough to cause her legs to tremble and fall weak like jelly. Lorna keeps a hand placed on the blonde's mane; a few forceful tugs here and there, a beg for some friction. Nicky can sense her sexual frustration in an instant; she pauses a beat, probing once more into those hazel, desirable eyes. "Spread your legs." The copper-blonde orders, and Lorna does so, whining under her breath for a pick of speed. She proceeds to suck on two of her digits, soaking them with a coat of saliva before plummeting them inside the brunette's pussy at a harsh pace. A louder, more unpitched squeal conceals in the air at Nicky's steady pumping. "Yeah, that feels good, don't it? Holy fuck, you're hot. And wet." She pants, chewing her lip at Lorna's exclaims. As the fatigue kicks in, Nicky withdraws her fingers to connect her tongue to Lorna's cunt instead. The smaller woman screws her lids at the reliving sensation; pushing down on Nicky's already forceful tongue through her moans. She feels the pressure build up from the swirl of the blonde's tongue, and it's not long before she comes down; hard on Nicky's mouth. After slurping up at the leaking juices, she retrieves from her position and lets out a breathy laugh. "Jesus, kid. I can tell you've got a libido but you've never cummed that fast before." Nicky chuckles, satisfied and stunned. "Fuck." Lorna whispers in response, dazed by her orgasm.

"But you gotta get me off here, c'mon I don't want no blueballs again." Nicky pleads, pulling down the pants and underwear of her own, gesturing at her vagina with a raised brow. She strokes herself in a few circles and murmurs before Lorna slumps off from the dryer, along with the trail of her pants, crumpled down at her knees. Nicky grins maliciously when Lorna makes no protest and bobs her head to lick at her cunt. "Fuck, babe…" She chunters hoarsely, before it fades off into an alleviate sigh. There's a feeling of Lorna's lips tugging into a smile at her clit. Enraptured by the feeling, Nicky wonders what she tastes like. Maybe she tastes like the fucking stars, like the way Lorna does? The ones that she wants a taste of everyday. Every hour. How ever much she'd fucking beg to make a mould of their bodies into one. Nicky Nichols, beg? That's fucking laughable. But she would.

She continues to pant increasingly, rolling her neck back in pleasure. Turns out, Lorna's pretty fucking good at using her tongue. She thrusts herself harder at Lorna's mouth. Smiling, Lorna slowly slides two fingers home; prompting a much louder groan from the blonde. She pushes them to and for in an arrhythmic rhythm, while she leans back in to trace a tongue along her clit. "Shit, shit, shit, fuck, kid. Faster." Nicky wails, as quietly as possible. When Lorna strives at an increasing pace, Nicky feels her walls contrast and tighten around the pair. "I'm gonna fucking cum." This time it's a yelp; provoking Lorna pump harder and tongue faster out of fear of being heard. As Nicky tightens, she grips down; chuntering moans through her orgasm when it washes over. "Jesus Christ, kid. That was hot."

For a moment they're stilled, panting through smiles before Nicky prompts herself up. "Fuck breakfast. Let's go again. I don't get to see you like this enough, these days." She requests, winking and pressing a soft kiss under Lorna's jawline. It's more of a supplicate that Lorna reads as she carefully plays with the rolled sleeves above the tattoos she cherishes. "What if we get caught?" Nicky stretches her smile, glimpsing at Lorna's features to lean in and chastely peck at her red lips, that's sure to have imprinted her own. "Well, then. I guess we'll have to be quick, won't we?"

No more than twenty minutes later, they're a clammy, heated clump. Hidden, nude bodies pressed tightly together, and beaming endlessly. "You're going to be the fuckin' death of me, Morello." Nicky breaks, sternly. The crucial tone of voice leaving herself to know it's the damn well truth, before she kisses her again. And again. And it's harder to pull away each time Lorna kisses back.


	3. Reefer Or Hope?

**Summary:** A take on after the movie scene in season four, episode ten, Bunny Skull, Bunny Skull. Nicky leaves to the bathroom to sulk, but Lorna isn't having it.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own OITNB or its characters.

 **Author's Note:** So, I've got one more chapter to fill before I move onto some prompts you guys have been requesting. I'll try to get them done ASAP, then continue with my chapters afterwards. If you have any prompt requests, feel free to hit me up. Hope you like this, feedback is much appreciated.

* * *

"You smell like reefer." The bitter tone is distinctively attentive, and it rings through Nicky's eardrums. There's a sudden urge to move. Get the fuck away. _'Why did I even fucking bother coming in here anyway?'_ So, she does. Scarcely picks herself up from the plastic chair that must have been saved for a reason. And it's absolutely no coincidence that Red, Piper and Alex each take the time to eyeball her up and down simultaneously by the time she's moved. Lorna appears sheepish and coy; stretching her jumper's sleeves, and fiddling nervously when she reads upon the blonde. Stood there with her arms tightly crossed against her chest, sniffing and probably sulking like a teenager. "Who the fuck sold to her?" She inconveniently traps her eye-line with Red for an instant, and the disappointment prominently transmits from those restless eyes, through the awkwardly tension-filled air between them. Each, and every one of them. Disappointment. Anger. Fear. Tutting in their minds, like in that skin crawling way her mother used to. The number of bodies, tightness and rising heat of the room suffocates her. Clogs up her lungs and squeezes her airways. It's daunting; almost as if she can feel her heart failing again. To a fucking blunt… What a way to go. _'Oh well, this way or no way. It's better to go than any other way. You're making fuck-all sense, Nichols.'_

 _'It's weed. Not heroin. Not cocaine. Not fucking crack that's been up Angie's ass. Weed. I needed a fix? So what? Look how disappointed Red looks in you. Doesn't matter. Yes, it does. Whatever, she can crucify me again if she wants to. I don't care. Yes, you do. Lorna looks like she's going to cry. Lorna's always crying about something. Shut the fuck up. Don't look at them. Leave.'_ The debate hassles Nicky's mind. It's a tug of war that jolts her back and forth before she makes the decision to step one foot in front of the other to get the fuck out of there. None of the threes' eyes trace away for her irrational pace of speed out from the room. Without thinking, Lorna picks herself up, and with Red's stern approval, she's out of there like a bullet from a gun to locate the junkie. All while not having a foggiest clue what she's going to do, attempt to get across no matter how much she knows she won't listen. Lorna's not a tactic maker. Every action is either rational or irrational, but she calculates what she wants to say. _Has_ to say. If there's one thing she's certain of, there's no fucking chance in hell she's losing her to Max again. Not again. Never again.

Nicky feels like she's going to barf; vomit up all that fucking self-loathe and intensely painful guilt that carries on her shoulders so much, it feels like a goddamn burden. But it's too late. It's all drained away like her dignity, stability, Red's trust... Lorna. Gone. Sunken in the sand; just like the box of ambitions she held as a kid. Before she started drugs. Got in prison. Went to Max. Every single grain of implication that she is worthless. _'You are. And that's fine. It's all good, all swell. Fine and dandy. You don't need them. They don't need you, so go right ahead, Nichols. Go forth, have no fear. Reach for the fucking stars. No one's going to stop you now.'_ Or so, that's what she ferociously itches to believe, until her skin cracks and turns dry like the swollen gape in her throat. Bitter and bile tasting. Maybe it's her personal despondency gnawing at her, inside out.

The suburb bathroom is empty, so much so, it seems like an echo could bounce of the tiles. The only sound is emitted from the common room; arrays of intense laughter, followed by light chuckles. In one of the cubicles, Nicky sits. Head crammed into her sweaty palms like she wants to sink herself into her own skin. Tear a few hair strands out. Anything to drown out the sorrows and make her feel something that isn't just stale numbness. The issue upheld, was that Nicky was beginning to feel washed up. Washed up, worn out, recycled, and reused like smooth sandpaper that's lost its coarseness. Thin and fragile like those little, white paper bags she imagines Red used to give customers Vatrushkas in. _'It'll be alright. It'll be fucking fine. Take a goddamn walk or something. Jesus, Nichols.'_

"Nicky?" Lorna's voice calls, timidly like the tight feeling in her shoes and how impeccably small she's feeling. Despite the explicitly obvious fact that Nicky's hidden behind the stall with the closed door, she lifts her feet to the seat, pulling her knees closely to her chest hoping she'll piss off eventually. "Nicky, I know you're in there. I wanna talk to you." She utters, disapproved; glancing down under the stall door where Nicky's shadow casts around the toilet. It's easily believable that'd she'd take more drugs, but not how childish she could be at times. The blonde exhales, snappishly. Rolling her eyes to the back of her skill, grinding her own gears with the urge to say fuck off. She doesn't, obviously. An additional layer of icing of regret and shame on the shit cake, wasn't something she was hoping to re-add to her bucket list anytime soon. But she impulses to be isolated, just smoke a blunt and hurt. Away from all the absurdities grating on her. Yeah… Pretty fucking hard to do that behind bars. "What do you want, Morello? If it's about a crisis with your new hubby then I'm only gonna say "I told you so." Congratulations by the way, I never said. Why don'tcha go back an' watch the fuckin' movie they've got on or whatever. Now if you excuse me, I'm occupied. Unless you wanna hear me taking a shit or something…"

"I'm not here to talk about Vinnie. But you gotta stop trying to grill me for getting married, we've been through this." Lorna cautiously approaches closer to press her hands on the stall, twitching at the corners of her mouth and furrowing her brows. It's increasingly difficult to conceal the dismay and pain as a result from Nicky's attitude. Nicky was caring. Jokingly exterior. Collective and wise. This wasn't her Nicky. "Whatever." She mumbles, closed and unresponsive to the rest of conversation Lorna has to offer. And now Lorna can feel the tears prickle the back of her eyeballs. It's getting harder to breathe without breaking down. She wants to smack herself. Force herself together in time until the drops fall; trickle down her cheeks. She aggressively wipes the tears away with the back of her hand. _'Stop crying, Lorna. Not now. Red's strong… Be strong like her.'_ The brunette reminds herself. "Don't do this. Don't shut yourself off from me… I already lost you once. It's not… I can't-"

"Yeah? 'N now I'm back. Makes no difference." Lorna grits down on her teeth. Hard. Unsure whether she's furiously telling herself to fumble and find the words or furiously hoping Nicky would just fucking understand. Of course, Nicky understands. "That's not what I mean…" Her forehead now pressed lightly against the stall, like she's trying to peer through the material right into Nicky's orbs. Blinking though her dampened lashes, she lets out an impatient, soft sigh, that slips though the creaking hinges of the door. "Yeah, well… Heard it a million fuckin' times before. Nothing new. Even from you. So, don't try and give me this pep talk of how this shit ruins lives. I know how it goes, Lorna, I'm the junkie here. Just go back, before you get all hurt again. I can't be dealin' with you, or this fucking shit right now." Nicky mumbles, fiddling with the skin between her fingernails. She didn't want to hurt Lorna, and for sure, Lorna didn't want to be hurt. So, what's the point? Is all Nicky can bring herself to think.

"Just come out… Please." Lorna lets out in a weary sniffle. With a sharp sigh, Nicky emerges from the stall; refusing to make eye contact with the brunette, that she knows is considerably tearing up. It drives a fucking wooden steak through her heart. She leans against the sinks, grimacing at the distorted reflection of herself in the "mirror." _'How could you fucking let yourself get like this? Holy shit.'_

"Why are you here? Why do you even care? Come to remind me I'm a lost cause? I fucking know. So, go somewhere else and do your make-believe there." The brunette steps forth. Hot tears dangerously close to streaming her cheeks again. The increasingly sized lump swelling in her gullet at Nicky's sharp-pointed words. She wants to seethe and spew out the anger, rage, fury, building up to her boiling point. Somehow, through the pain, the dots connect. "Because I fucking care, Nicky. I care. Red cares. Alex, Piper, the family. Stop actin' like we don't." She stances bigger in her boots, schooling her words carefully, only to have a scoff returned from the wiry-haired blonde. Nicky blinks rapidly and quirks up one of those condescending fake smiles, to agitate Lorna more so.

"I don't care if you feel like a piece of shit, 'cause you're actin' like one. You're really gonna hold out a grudge on me forever? How many times I gotta tell you? I didn't know if you were fuckin' coming back. I care because I don't want you ending up like Tricia. But you know what? Whatever. If you don't care, neither do I. If you can't have a normal conversation with your best friend, then fuck you." She chokes, seething through her teeth while Nicky slowly turns to read her in slight awe at the radical increase of tone. "You wanna be treated like a junkie, then fine. You're looking for me to sit with whenever, it'll be too late. But it's alright for you, huh? 'Cause you have your drugs. Don't matter about the rest of us? Pickin' up all your pieces, crying, watching you fucking kill yourself… What did I do, Nicky? What did I do besides find someone, for you to barely even look at me? We just want you to get better… Red wants her daughter back, I want my friend back. You promised you were clean, you were getting back on your feet, but you, you-" She turns away from the hopeless wreck. Head pounding through her tears and heart crushed to be swept up later, like the grubby, hopeless, disgusting floors of Litchfield. The needle's dropped, just as much as the quivering lump she held in her throat. Lorna tries to leave, disappear from the scene as quick as her heart beats. And she does so, before Nicky's hand reaches out to clench hold of her wrist, firmly; while Lorna hides her broken tears. She struggles out of the grip and proceeds to walk, walk like it's the best thing she'll ever walk away from, like she lost a dime and found twenty dollars. It's done now. She tried. She's tired.

"Wait!" Nicky calls, hopelessly with her one heart bursting into a million more. Lorna's speech was courageous, to say the least. An eyeopener. Something to remind herself how much of a cunt she's being. Before she wants to crack her cranium on the tiled wall, at least say thank you. Of some sort. To her favourable luck and gratitude, Lorna holds, shifts slightly with a pinch of regret that she knows she might feel afterwards. She walks back, grumbling coherently; watching as Nicky purses her lips and blinks slowly. "Look… I'm, uh, I'm sorry, alright? It's just Max. This fuckin' place. I thought when I reached three years that's be it. The days of waking up to some shit I don't remember, and swinging from the ceilings were over. But it's not… How the fuck am I supposed to go from here? It' like **_boom_** , the whole thing never happened, and now I'm stuck with this. I keep telln' myself I'll never go back there, but it doesn't work like that… I can't help… It's not…" Really, she wants to shut herself up. Go back in the stall to blubber and bitch and whine to herself about how much she despises herself and wishes she'd choke on her own vomit.

 _'Stop stalling, Nichols. You were right, she doesn't care. Leave her be and let her leave you be. Y'can't pick up all this shit now. It's worthless. Go barf it out like the million sunrises and sunsets you ever watched. The ones that Lorna didn't get to watch. The ones she's going to. Cave yourself into the smallest fucking room on the smallest fucking planet and don't let anyone vulture you. Vulture yourself; it's what you deserve.'_ She educates herself that Lorna doesn't care, shouldn't care, wouldn't care. Nobody should. She wouldn't wish it upon anyone to deal with her shit. No one wants to hear rich girls' sob stories. But Lorna remains in the same position. Two-foot away, casting her enchantment. Trying to fit a jigsaw piece or a mind game together with her brain and eyes; listening, carefully as if she misses one word, she'll miss everything. Patiently waiting for Nicky to continue her tracks with an opening gesture of a light smile tagging along behind those kneading brows. An encouragement to continue. Get back on the right pace.

"Promises schmomises." She mimics. "You can't trust an addict. So, why does it matter what I'm telling you now? How do you know it isn't all lies now? You must be honoured to know I'm not all what I made up to be. What Red made me. I hate to disappoint you, but… Addicts are terrible people, in case you didn't know already. I ain't no philosopher, kid. I couldn't stop this coming, if I saw it a fucking mile away." It pours out like the bleeding soul and pieces of her fucking heart. She isn't lying; she wouldn't. Never again. Kill herself before she gets the chance to lie to this pretty face again. It's Lorna that takes hold of one of her palms and squeezes her fingers, a reminder that she's still here, in one piece, not matter how many pieces she's in inside. It takes a beat for Nicky to scoff a little, again. Slightly flustered and cofound as to why Lorna even walked back to listen to her little audible. The blonde hesitates before squeezing back gently. Dazed by the warmth and delicacy that she's not even sure she's getting just from Lorna's palm.

"You can get back up… Slowly. I want to help, Red, we all… We're all here. Please just, don't, don't lock me out. Us out. The last time you did that, they, they- took you away. I just want to remind you where you are. That… You can come to me. You don't gotta do this to yourself, 'cause then you'll learn that you were wronger… T'not trust us. Uh, Red told me to tell you, you're better than this. 'An I'm sorry, about, y'know… Grassin' you up to her. I was just worried. And mad, but listen. Can't we just… Make ends meet? For us, the family… Your sobriety." It's not the reassurance she expected. More like a scowl to remind herself of the selfish piece of shit she's being. But no, this time, it seems conclusive. Definitive, and taking the time to glimpse at Lorna; there's a desperation. A glint of hope, forgiveness and helpfulness that Nicky thinks may just be the first time she's witnessed from anyone in her entire fucking thirty years of existence. It's like falling from a million feet, the gust of wind pulling at her nerves, a smack in the nose and a hope that she'll never land. There's a hint of quick, intense fear that follows soon after. Oh, no… This isn't the kind of falling that was ever meant to happen. Not in here, not in Max, not in here again. Never. This is forbidden territory. Territory Nicky sworn she'd never touch with the tip of her fingers, toes and tongue ever again. Out of bounds, never go back there. And yet still; she feels the ground beneath her rehabilitate, her heart beginning to glue itself back whole, her senses finally starting to fucking surface back. The blond inhales, long and smoothly, weighing up all her options. She takes a glance down to the loose connection their fingers hold. It's unnerving, yet solacing. Makes her blood pump usually, and her softness flow out.

 _'Well, you can go back to being the useless, selfish wank stain that you are, or… Keep being a useless wank stain but not bite the hand that feeds you? Your lucky day, junkie. Make your pick.'_

"Uh.. Y-yeah. I, uh… I wanna try." Nicky, swallows hard and the glow emits from Lorna's face and her features light up. It's not a promise. It's not for certain. But it's still something. Hope she can fold up and keep in her pocket for however long as Nicky stays humble. "Uh… Thanks. For… Gettin' my fucking donker out of the sand." There's a pause, but it's not awkward. It's comforting like the tight feeling in Lorna's shoes that faded like her fury, and Nicky's tarnished soul gradually getting varnished.

"So… That seat still free?"


	4. Tomorrow

**Summary:** Nicky used to read, while Lorna finds a book to invest herself into. A short conversation in the library sparks comfort between the two.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own OITNB or its characters.

 **Author's Note:** So, first of all, apologies about the delay of this chapter. It's been a busy week and I didn't find myself able to actually get it done. But, here it is, finally. Thank you for the feedback so far, I appreciate it. A reminder that if you have any prompt ideas, you can send your requests my ask box on tumblr. As I mentioned in my previous chapter, this is my last one until I move onto prompts and I'm beginning working on the first one requested, which should take a week to complete. Keep the feedback coming on here, AO3 and tumblr, because I love to hear your thoughts. The brilliant fic mentioned in this chapter is called Sapphire The Barbarian by its_sapphire, which I strongly recommend. Go check it out out/make her day because it's an excellent fic she works immensely hard on, and would appreciate it so much! Anyways, I hope you enjoy this.

* * *

The library wasn't Nicky's favourite place. Sure, she likes books, enjoys passing the time ingesting the heavy filling of content within them. Takes the pages between thumb and finger, turning them slowly at a time. Fresh pages, or old, crinkly ones, imagining herself in different scenarios. What's the junkie philosopher's escape from prison today? What place this time? It never got jaded and dull. At least, it never really used to. _Until it did_.

As a child, she'd write her own. Stories about a little girl, with wild, unkempt hair, exploring the world – different worlds. With people she knew, and the people she wanted to know more of in reality. "Mommy! Mom! I wrote a story about us, read it! Read it!" Bursting with pride and anticipation for what the world really holds, little Nicky bounced on Marka's bed – in her shoes. Clutching hold of some scrunched, folded up pieces of scribbled on paper, with colourful sketches of flowers with smiley faces, overlined with Crayola crayons. "Well, that's sweet, Nichole. But you know I'm meeting Angela for our shopping trip. If I see a nice dress at Bergdorf, I'll pick it up for you. And what have I told you about coming in here with your shoes on, young lady?! Go find your father." Little Nicky mumbled, apologetically. Pouting her lips and glancing down at her masterpiece, hoping maybe tomorrow. "Mom! Mom, will you take me to the library, please?" Eleven-year-old Nicky intruded, with her arms slightly folded. The glint of anticipation and hope in her eyes, rapidly failing. "Nicole? I told you, we're going to meet grandma and have brunch at the Four Seasons. Get out of those scruffy clothes, go get dressed. You can ask Paloma to take you tomorrow." Marka sat at her dressing table, applying a dauntless shade of lipstick and not breaking from her position to turn and face her daughter at the door frame. Nicky rolled her eyes, heavily sighing in approval and getting restless. Restless of the same old stories, and even losing interest in her own. "Is dad coming?" This time her mother turned; a cocked eyebrow and a dull, blank expression. "Your father's… Busy tonight. He'll call you tomorrow." She uttered as Nicky stomped away to her own bedroom. The bedroom always seemed a little too large and lonely for a little girl's room. "Yeah, more like fucking aunt Angela while you fuck uncle Ray." Spitting to herself as she sharply slammed the door behind her.

Time gradually paced by and Nicky grew into her shoes. She stopped writing stupid, pathetic little kid stories and built up the bricked walls and iron gate around her. If it stopped her mother getting in, it would stop other people, easy. She didn't plan on getting excluded from four of her private schools, getting sacked from two of her jobs and moving out on her own, with the world at her feet. She'd gathered that the people of Earth were too laboured, too loud, too disconnected in a lot of particular elements she'd stopped caring about anyway, to care. She'd get more detentions. Answer back more. Meet the wrong people, go to bed later, sleep longer, drink faster, be louder, smoke more and more and more and more. Then, the _other stuff_. Small doses at first, just a taste. Just a little slip into the unorthodox, the frowned-upon absurdity _(or orthodox, on plenty of the New York streets)._ A dip of the tips of her toes. ' _Just a little, see what it's like. Can't be any worse than reality, no?'_ The gateway.

A bond. A suplex she'd land on her back, piercing the clouds open to slowed-down, drowsy, funny-looking world. A world she'd laugh her ass off in. "Jesus, Jase. Why din'cha hook me up with some of this shit before, man? What, I gotta suck your dick or something? Ey, you got a good dealer for this shit?" Small doses that turned into larger ones. Pierce the clouds further, open the curtain wider. Gateways with pointed pricks, that weren't just some of her so-called palls. Those larger doses that turned into mood swings, sweats, headaches, cramps, lethargy, endocarditis and a failing heart… It was a world she wanted to devour with every green note she'd wash away on; puke out that emptiness, that loneliness until it was non-existent. Replaced with a little more of that pounding, that itching, that boost – followed by the drain. At least she could say she was connected to something. Even if she'd wake up in the gutter, time and time again. Promises after promises after promises. Stories became bullshit fantasies and the fantasies became something she paid for; weekly, monthly, whenever. And books… Books became much more convenient in other practicalities; a step stool, a foot rest, a hard cushion to peep over people's heads during movie night. Easily anything other than its intended purpose, when words became an exhausting bore.

* * *

Through the peeping gaps in misplaced books, Nicky led her glace down at Lorna. Knees scrunched up to her chin, and probably the first time Nicky's actually seen her with a book in her grasp, instead of incorrectly answered crossword book puzzles. One painfully dragged week had sloped past since her episode with Christopher in the visitation room. Neither pretended Nicky didn't see it, neither pretended she did either. They didn't talk about it, and Nicky didn't impose on making her and herself uncomfortable to bring up the seemingly forbidden subject, anyway. She gave the hardback book a gentle kick in Lorna's hands, which probed a little startle from her; glancing up and noticing the blonde, she let out an eased sigh and quirk of a smile. The reluctance breezed from Nicky's shoulders, allowing her to squat for a patch of carpet next to her.

"What'cha doin' there, kid?" Lorna twitches at her mouth, closing the book partially to shift her attention Preventing a lost place by keeping her index finger wedged midway between the pages. "Just readin' this. I don't really read much in here, apart from my magazines when I used to drive the van, but… Taystee gave it to me. Said I probably won't like it because it's none of that fairy-tale bullshit. I do, though." She air-quotes 'fairy-tale bullshit', before looking down at the hardback, tracing her thumbs across the cover. Nicky anticipates an impaled sigh, though nothing occurs. She gathers that it's possibly a break from that fantasy she'd be the first to blabber about, and maybe that's for the best. Fantasies aren't always exactly helpful in the behind-bars genre, and after last week, if there's one thing Nicky knew, it was that Litchfield never ran out of surprises. "Oh yeah, what's it called?"

"Sapphire The Barbarian." Lorna says, in an oddly discreet tone.

"Librarian..?"

" _Barbarian_." She exclaims, crisply. A small tug of her lips and a jest tut. Something feels displaced, though not in a major sense. That doesn't prevent the anxiousness slipping between Nicky's lips, to keep the conversation flowing as easily as possible. As gentle as she can be. "What's it about?" It's Lorna's turn to sigh, look up from the book and catch a trap onto Nicky's face; an encouraged smile the blonde attempts to spread in the non-cheesiest way possible. Impossible. "It's about a girl, called Sapphire. She's a barbarian, this, this strong, fearless woman. All these problems on her shoulders and shit she has to overcome. This harsh world she's in, people she comes across, always tied down by all these threats, but still… Still just looking for these answers for why she become the way she is. It's like… Even though we're completely different, I can see myself inside her head. I mean, you know I always go for a good romantic novel, but, it's her emotions, her fear and anger I relate to." Nicky patiently observes and nods. "Specially the part where she finds Bard, an' tells him if he don't leave Carlotta alone, she's gonna tear the bowels from his body and wear 'em round her neck like scarf." Nicky's casual observant trance sparks into a burst of astounded wheezing, in response to Lorna blank, vacant expression and jaded pitch of voice. "Jesus, kid." She breathes, sounding like she's endured a punctured lung. "But, it's like, all these adventures she goes on, along with all her struggles makes me…" Her tone of optimism of the synopsis fades off, leaving Nicky furrowing her brows.

It's crystal clear that this certainly isn't the kind of book Lorna would read. The first indication, is that she's either yanked herself away from everything she knows best, or something's just wrong. Maybe both. It's a consideration, Nicky feels, but she finds herself wanting Lorna to push onwards. If she couldn't talk to her about her problems, who was she going to go to? Red? That's a snort and a scoff in Nicky's mind, it's not that the fiery, Russian chef wouldn't hassle herself with her daughters' problems. At the moment, she's just go bigger fish to fry. A fish with a black, curly mane. Radically, compulsive tendencies, and stone-cold intensions. Aside from that majorly fucked-up factor, nobody knows beyond Lorna's impressively dumb mail order scams. People presume, Boo takes the piss, but nobody knows in the form of what Nicky witnessed. "Makes you what? What's up, Morello? Someone leave a bloody tampon in your sandwich?" That fabricates a chuckle from the pair, before it soon sinks. "It's just… It's silly, really." The shake of her head leaves the delicate brunette curls to bounce at her shoulders. Nicky softly sighs, drumming her fingers on her kneecap and not taking her comforting trance away from Lorna's field of vision. "That cool, but, uh. I don't exactly know how to put this, but if somethings bothering you, then you'll probably find that it's in your best intention to weigh them onto me. I mean, uh… We know what happened when you kept something to yourself last time." Referring to what happened the previous week, Nicky stammers, carefully choosing her words to get past any other set of ears wavering around to hear for something they might like. Naturally, Lorna does not have any trace of knowledge upon Nicky's recent-almost-fall-off-the-wagon. It was Nicky's best intention to not create dismay or further worries onto the petite girl. She reads the twitch of Lorna's mouth while a flare of understanding seems to glimmer in her chocolate orbs. "Yeah, you're right. It's just… It got me thinking about how much you've done growing up and… I dunno. I wish I could be like that. Strong, l-like you, an' Sapphire. But I'm here. And it's my fault, and I was lying, Nicky. I made it worse by making myself believe that I was-"

"Man, look. We all do stupid shit, kid. Yeah, sure, you took it to an extreme level, but that ain't your fault because… Look, between you and me, it doesn't matter how fucking polished and luxuriously ass-wiping my past may sound to you. I did some really fucked-up shit, Morello. And yeah, it's my fault and y'know, from time to time I feel pretty shit about it. But, over time, I try to see it by two ways. I can either go back to having daily forecasts of highs, followed by dizzy spells afterwards. Or, store the affright thought of my dear prison mommy smacking the shit 'outta me, if she ever suspects I'll to go back to that neck of the woods." Lorna looks as if she's lapping up every word, like each letter are some sacred advice to wrap and cure herself up with. There's softening appearance of Nicky's features that make her statements evermore so convincingly appealing to Lorna too. Exclusively, it's more apparent that she'd lap up the words of Nicky, and only Nicky, which soars through the blonde, blistering enough to make her thumping heart drip down as much as her tough exterior. "You can't blame yourself forever, Lorna. It'll eat you up. Just… Try to relax, be grateful that you didn't get caught. Focus on tomorrow. Just, uh, another shitty day in this place as opposed to Lucifer's personal shithole down the hill. Neither of us are going nowhere. This is just another day of horse shit Sapphire has to drag herself through. What chapter you on, anyway?" She warmly proposes as Lorna beams. "Three. I'm gonna take it back to my cube and read more before lights out. Got nothin' else to do, so-"

"And you better be takin' good care of it, we only got one copy of that shit, and I can't be dealin' with anymore ugly ass bent books with the covers ripped off. Garvey, how many times I gotta' be telling you? You cannot take away the half-blood prince every single week, bring it back, then ask to take it away again? How many times you gonna read the same damn thing over and over? Go get the Deathly Hallows or something.' And make sure you put it back in the right damn place, I ain't cleaning up after you because you're too blind to read the orders the books are supposed to go in!" Taystee calls from beyond a few shelves, before changing her focus to another slightly dazed, fresh blood. "C'mon." Nicky chines, lifting herself up from the floor and offering Lorna a hand. "I'm feelin' a game of Uno is overdue, and I've beat every other bird in this place. So, it's your turn to take up the challenge." She takes the hand and pulls herself up, considering the worst kind of diegesis she's lucky enough to not be held up in. "You're on. And when I beat you, you owe me a bag of pretzels." Nicky cocks a brow, cracking a smile to the statement as they exit the library, to stack up the cards and share them out. Kinda like all their thoughts, hopes and dreams.


	5. Unfamiliarity

**Disclaimer:** I don't own OITNB or its characters.

 **Summary:** Lorna learns the reality. Post season five.

 **Author's Note:** Okay, so, here's the first prompt of many. I'm sorry about the shortness of this chapter, it's just difficult to get from point A to B when the angst of this prompt is revolved around Lorna's emotions. This is the first chapter I've written in her POV, so hopefully it feels right. Keep sending your feedback/prompts. I'm also working on a separate fic after I decided not to post it as a chapter to this. It's going to be lengthy in comparison to these one shots/short chapters, alas will be quite a while before it gets out.

* * *

It's a strong, high probability that it was irrationality. The extreme, sudden forceful shift of the tectonic plates that utterly shook and shacked her clean off guard. A matter of merely seconds that had her whimpering on the floor of medical, taking Nicky's crisply, instinctive words, to pacing out into the mobocracy, pleading "I'm pregnant!" Or, possibly the unnerving coldness of the uncomfortably flat, pleather seats. Although, in terms of irrationality, quite potentially, it was almost certainly the irrational fear of the unknown. The _not knowing_ part was always something Lorna suffered with sufficiently. And that's what she suffers with the most in this very instant. It's a genesis that creates a dawning feeling of trepidation for what the future, taciturn destination, and her surroundings could possibly mean right now. The cold, steel cuffs, that are clamped and clenching her wrists captive, are excruciatingly tight, and at this point, it's unpreventable to reduce the withering pain of cramping forming in her limbs. This includes the exclusively irritable cluster of sharp pins and needles, prickling around the heels and toes of her feet, hidden in her bulky boots. One glass of cosmopolitan, and it would be a luxurious, first class travel...

They must have been seated an hour so far, maybe more. Each second rolls over and each of her breaths getting increasingly restless; impatient and shakily, as she continues to scan her glare around the bus. _'What did she say? She said… She said she has to go get Red, and the others. She'll be back soon. She's fine. That was hours ago. No, no. It's okay… She's on another bus. With Alex, Piper, the others. Must be. What would she say? Relax. Everything's goin' to go back to shitty normal. Count to ten.'_ So, she does. Screws her lashes and paints an image of a little boat of some kind, painted a light shade of pink. It bobs about indulgently on each wave in the middle of the ocean. Unfortunately, its appealing adorableness, is forlornly unsuccessful in blocking out the oppositely competitive, impactful blue; flashing from each corner of the bus. It glares through the grubby windows, until she can see the pattern of them behind her closed lids. Lorna's jaw and teeth chatter, while she feels the hammering sensation of her fluttering heart, flushing blood hastily around her body. She opens her eyes with precaution, and shuffles in her seat, gingerly; pacing her eyes around the bus one more time. That slight pinch of hope, utterly deteriorating like some kind of uncertain fantasy she's been living in.

Nicky still isn't there. In the seat behind her, opposite her, far away from her – anywhere in her plain vision field, fogged by the pooling of water clogging up the back of her eyeballs. The method of her used-to-work conscience therapy is barely successful. And only furtherly agitating, when Lorna notices the obscure woman next to her with brown, bushy hair, carefully observing this unfamiliar tactic. A face that matches the _'if looks could kill'_ expression. She peers out of spiteful curiosity. Embarrassingly caught off guard, Lorna offers a sympathetic, yet weary smile, only to receive a condescending raised brow in return, before turning to face the window again. "I'm pregnant." She whimpers, breaking the dead air. It feels like a reminder to herself, until the same woman mutters, waspishly "Congratulations. How long?"

It's not exactly a stance on genuine interest, but a simple distraction Lorna imagines everyone, _especially_ herself, could do with on that bus. _'Stay calm.'_ She stammers, slightly. "U-Uh… Two months, I think." The woman tugs at the corners of her lips and glances down at Lorna's abdomen. "Yeah? Well, better pray it turns out good, because you can't expect shit back from your kids." Her expectation of a comforting turn in conversation, lead her far off, and she lets out false, shakily laugh. "Don't listen to Giles, pretty. Miserable bitch doesn't know what she's talking about." The familiarly-voiced, blonde woman from previous states and Lorna sternly, yet uncomfortably nods. "The fuck you say?" Giles scowls.

"You heard. Leave her alone. Ain't we all got enough shit to deal with right now?" This time, it's a suck of her teeth, before Giles, once again, turns back to face the window she looks like she's determined to crack open with a singular, unsought butt of her greasy forehead. "You… You said we were goin' to another prison. Which one? Because Vinnie, my-my husband, he-" Lorna quivers, just as Giles venomously slices through her inquiry.

"You fucking retarded? They don't tell us. We ain't gonna know. You wait two more hours, and we'll be on the next plane to fucking Alabama with five more years on our sentences. This is bullshit." She spits, bouncing the back of her head on the pleather seat. Lorna stares down at her two shoes, panickily; biting down on her tongue and hastily swallowing any words she allows herself to muster up. _'But everything was supposed to go back to shitty normal?'_ It takes only a collection of milliseconds to pass by, before she captures a striking, unconcealed whisper from the left section of seating on the bus. "Someone said they counted ten short…"

Lorna lets her tongue loosely from the grasp of her front teeth, as the rush of blood rapidly drains from her once-rosy cheeks. Ten. Ten is a considerably, large number. _'Who's ten? Red… Mendoza… Suzanne… Chapman… Vause… Freida…? Flores… Taystee… Black Cindy… And Nicky. It has to be. None of them here here.'_ She lets that fact sink in, like the sinking sensation of being vacuumed into the material of the seat above a black hole. The nauseating twist of her stomach muscles pulling, as if her brain attempts to repel a form of toxic ingestion. At that instant, Lorna takes her reservation to shut up, and remain uneasily quiet. She fades of out taking notice of their chilling conversations about what happens to prisoners who riot. "Jesus fuck, what's taking these pricks so long? We've been out here fucking hours." Giles cantankerously hisses, spewing out her increasing frustration.

Failing the attempts of keeping her mind occupied and distracted by imagining storybook sceneries, Lorna retreats to counting seconds in her head. _'One-hundred and thirty-two, one-hundred and thirty-three, one-hundred and thirty-four…'_ Is what she gets up to, until a sudden, sharpish sound of an explosion transmits from the prison, impactfully boiling through the air. She gasps, as the sea of bodies also do so; bobbing their heads in various distractions to any kind of sign, implication to explain what the fuck they just heard. "Shit – what the fuck is happening?!" One inmate yells, "I can't fucking see!" Another screams, at a vile pitch, enough to obliterate Lorna's cochlea and shatter the trickling tears that are now dropping from her cheeks. The planted seed of containment bursts, unravelling her emotions. "This isn't happenin,' what if they're hurt?! What if she's dead?! I didn't even say goodbye properly, oh, my God—" She shuffles, webs of bloodshot forming in her eyes as she hyperventilates and breaks down completely. Every exhale that withers from her lips, breaking like her voice and once-maintained stability. Everything that was left unsaid. Everything that was eventually meant to be said. Everything that's now lost. It brings her this understanding trauma of this territory of unfamiliarised, new constellations she now has to plough through. Alone.


	6. Snowed In

**Disclaimer:** I don't own OITNB or its characters.

 **Summary:** Nicky and Lorna get snowed in their car.

 **Author's Note:** I'm sorry it's been a huge like...What? Month gap? Since I last updated. I went back to college after summer and I've been pretty busy to get on with your prompts, while I've also been busy writing my own prompt! I'm still only almost half way through, as I had to pause it to push onto this prompt for you guys. I'll try to write as often as I can and update more regularly. I hope you like this! For future summaries, so it's easier for you guys to recognize if it's your prompt, I'm going to write your prompt request as the summary, if that sounds more convenient.

* * *

"Shit signal." The blonde mutters, locking her phone and aggressively shoving it back into her coat pocket. Lorna squeezes her arms tightly against her chest and purses her lips. She turns forward to face the steering wheel, mind-mapping another tactic or plan B. "Shit…" She murmurs. "Try getting the engine to go again, it might work, before God decides to jizz on the windscreen again, and we can't see for shit." Without hesitation, Lorna pulls forward and forcefully twists the key in the ignition, only for the engine to cough and splutter. The pair exchange brief eye contact before Nicky flares her nostrils and throws her hands in the air at defeat. "Fuckin' A, man. So, we're snowed in. No one's answering their phones, and the engine's fucked." She sucks her teeth viciously, while bouncing the back of her skull on the passenger seat headrest – completely out of ideas. "Knew we should have invested the cash we saved up on an actual vehicle, like we were supposed to, instead of putting up with this clump-of-shit car for too long." Ignoring the comment, Lorna swiftly unclips her belt; straining as she leans to stretch over Nicky's legs to access the glove compartment. "Whoa! What'cha doin'?" Nicky agitatedly mumbles. The two press uneasily close, when the brunette hastily digs through bundles of rubbish, letters, pens, magazines and empty cigarette packets. She sighs frustratingly, dropping a "well, we gotta do something, don't we? A magazine puzzle, maybe? A game? I dunno, Nichols, help me out here, will you?" The latter, with her hands held in surrender expression, chuffs uncomfortably. "Breathing space. It's essential for the human body to survive, baby." Lorna slams the glovebox shut; she pulls the sunglasses from her head, dropping them on the dashboard and turning to scan Nicky's eyes, almost questionably. For a moment, the blonde glares back in confined puzzlement. Her lips beginning to form an odd-looking smile. "But, you never been afraid of small spaces?"

"Yeah – not until you suddenly decided to pawn right over me like that, Jesus Christ." She bemusedly points out for Lorna to lightly scoff towards and grumble "you never complained about that before…" She glances back up to Nicky when the blonde fumbles and forces one of her hands into the back pocket of her tight, jet-black jeans to yank out a half-empty pack of Marlboro. "What – _a game_? Like when it was your turn on our little road trip, and me and the Vauses' spend two fucking hours spying for a water park that didn't even exist." She slips the tip of a cigarette between her teeth, twirling it around with her tongue as she locates her most reliable lighter. As the small flame flickers, she's met with a snippet of a stern lour from Lorna in the driver's seat. Nicky peers down, blinking several times, until concluding to withdraw the folded paper from between her lips. She arches her back up to slide the pack back into her pocket, at Lorna's considerable ease from her shoulders, while she also disposes of her lighter into one of her front pockets. "Nah. You're right." She sniffs, rubbing the tip of her red nose with the back of her hand, and watching her breath repel in the uneasily small metal box. "We should do something. Anything but fucking Eye Spy, though, please." Nicky begs, with her hands in prayer and her bottom lip poking out childishly. "Alright, alright!" Lorna restlessly exclaims as she itches her head under her purple beanie. Nicky observes the brunette in her wonder through passable moments, until her expression lifts, like a literal light bulb glowing above her head. "What about Would You Rather?" She suggests, her huge grin exposing the creases and tiny dimples around her eyes and mouth. She sounds like an excited child, overly enthusiastic about the creation of passing time by playing stupidly simple games. Nicky's brow arches and her cheeks raise ever so slightly at Lorna's happy expense. "Whatever. Your turn first."

* * *

A slow hour painfully passes and another unhealthy amount of snow falls, all the while the temperature drops significantly. Nicky curls, and tucks in her knees on the passenger seat; tapping away on her phone, failing to impatient texts out to the likes of Red, Piper and Alex. "Would you rather…" Lorna continues onto her turn, extending her vowels as she imagines how to conclude the question. "Have all of fingers pulled off one at a time…Or, have all your toes pulled off at the same time?" She questions the unthinkable narrative in a way that makes herself sound like some kind of malicious, evil genius. Nicky scoffs without even having to proceed onto a short debate. "Easy. All my toes at the same time."

"But then you won't be able to walk."

"And I wouldn't be able to pick things up."

"But you could get some o' those…Wha'dya call 'em? Robot fingers." Lorna argues as Nicky shakes her head in disagreement. "I'm not thinking about the long term, I'm thinking about the context of the would you rather. Who wants to go through singular pain every time one of your fingers is individually pulled off? You get'cha toes wrenched off, they're all done at the same time." Her girlfriend stares dumfounded for Nicky to sigh. "I don't know. I give up, Lorn." She shrugs, tucking her hands into the sleeves of her winter jacket. "You wouldn't be able to give up in that situation, though. They'd be no point if three of your toes were already missing."

"No – I mean…" Nicky's breath titters. "I mean I give up on this game." She smirks. Lorna twists her body back towards the pure, white sheet coating the windscreen. Any small glint of hope disappearing from her expressions as she shuffles further down in her seat. "What if it's dark out? My-my nonno got snowed in his car once, we didn't even know and he was stuck there for three days. What if no one finds us and we can't get out and we run out of oxygen and-"

"Babe, just calm down, yeah? It's only been an hour. We'll be fine. We're supposed to meet everyone in like, what…? Twenty minutes. When we don't show up, Piper or whoever will probably call us and we can tell 'em we're stuck here. I've still got half battery on my phone. We aren't gonna run out of oxygen, okay?" She chuckles. "Windows aren't air tight. We just have to…Sit tight. Relax, for another…Hour or so, maybe…Uh, but it'll be okay. Alright?" She nods encouragingly and Lorna calms; reversing her stare from the glass and softening her vision, considerably more optimistically.

* * *

Further moments of silence pass and Nicky finds herself carefully writing notes and ticking off check boxes in her mind as she unnoticeably observes her girlfriend's movements. Lorna was cold. It's the small things she notices in their apartment on chilling nights, that indicate so; how she scrunches her body up, insistently pretending she's much warmer and less fragile than she appears to be. She hums along an unidentifiable tune from her red, and soft looking lips as she taps her fingers along the outside of the steering wheel. Her feet continue to tap along to her hums on the floor mat while she occasionally shivers with her arms meanly crossed. "Get over here."

"What?" Lorna asks, shivering away and shifting her body peculiarly to insulate more warmth. "You look cold. Come sit over here." Nicky requests. Without hesitation, Lorna moves from her seat and over the handbrake. She extends her arms for support and Nicky grips them as the brunette struggles, and messily falls into the blonde's lap. Sighs of relief are shared when they find a comfortable position; Nicky's hands place securely under Lorna's legs and around her waist. The smaller woman grins down at Nicky's smug smirk as she wraps her arm to tangle the lengths of her fingers in the curls of Nicky's copper-blonde mane. "God, you're fucking freezing." She breathes; pulling her in close to press a long kiss on Lorna's jawline. Inhaling the hint of floral perfume and honeycomb scented shampoo as she does so. Lorna continues to hum; glancing through the window again, like she can see beyond the impactful snow compacted against the glass pane. Nicky catches a small trace of impeccable goose bumps, plumping up the microscopic hairs on the skin of her creamy neck, as her teeth timidly chat against each other. She gazes at the blackness of her exquisitely symmetrical lashes, each time they flicker when she blinks in cramped ponder. Nicky licks at her bottom lip as she stares infatuated; soaking in every awe of the details painted out in such simplicity. "What do you wanna do now?" It comes out rather like a casual statement, than an intended question. She fails to take her train of day-dream away from the glass, as the inquiry slips out monotonal.

"I want you to fuck me." It's when the gravely words leave Nicky's mouth, she comprehends her arousal at its peak and it takes a second for Lorna turn and look down oddly at Nicky with a cocked smile and a quizzical crease on her brow. Her lips form a "what," that fails to escape when the blonde takes her ruby lips captive with her own; muffled moans arise when one of the pair breaks the intimacy to collect the frenzy of the moment. The flawlessly, drawn on lipstick, now smeared around Nicky's top lip and chin that amuses Lorna and for the taller woman to take pride in. The pair know this setting like a map drawn out on the palms of their hands, and so, no dialogue is exchanged when Nicky sloppily pulls Lorna to the backseats of their stranded car. It's giddily yet lustful, while Lorna takes her fingers to unclip and tug at the belt snaked around the blonde's jeans; her eyes capturing Nicky's lascivious glint. That trademark, lip-curling smile easily present through the mumbles of a soft word, or groan or two through the chill of her respires, when she feels the brunette's ponderous hands loosely roam and her zipper unloose. Lorna lets out a short, bemused snigger and pauses her fondling, much to Nicky's resentment.

"We really gonna do this in a car?" She quirks, schooling her tone a little, before it grazes off into another snigger. "Why not?" Nicky breathes; her head resting flatly and her posture laid out along the three back seats. She smirks encouragingly, yet in flatter at Lorna's pureness and consideration; taking her fingers to leisurely unzip her girlfriend's coat. "Got nothing better to do. 'Sides. No one can see us." She winks, taking Lorna's willing hands back to the waistband of her unfastened jeans. With a beam, she leans in to chastely peck at Nicky's pouting lips, as her fingers travel to help pull the material down her thighs. Nicky emits a soft moan as Lorna does so; tightly frosted air nips at the skin of her exposed legs, and her breathing begins to get tensely shaky through small shivers _(that she's not entirely sure is being cause by Lorna, or the actual cold itself)_. Her raven underwear easily slide down to meet her jeans at her knees. As they do, Nicky immediately spreads herself and croakily urges Lorna to touch her. The brunette wastes no time teasing; she flashes a smirk that twists at her dimples and glides two fingers home. Rolling both head and eyes back, Nicky bucks her hips to enjoin more friction to Lorna's arrhythmic rhythm. "Fuck." It sounds like a groan in the blonde's head, but appears more like a desperate chunter in her own ears when her girlfriend picks up speed. Lorna's malicious smirk remains, and she bites forcefully at the inside of her cheek quite painfully, every time she makes sure to scrape Nicky's most desirable spot. With a chill shooting up her tailbone and spine, as vibrations pulsate through her thighs; her walls and lips tighten around the digits plummeting within her. She lets out a shakily gasp when she melts on Lorna's fingers; jerking her back forward to mumble a breathy "Christ." Lorna removes her fingers and looks almost in a state of giggle in that girly manner before tuning it off into a humourous sigh. She leans closer to lap at her leaking peak with her tongue, until all traces have vanished. "I think that was a quick, new world record, Miss Nichols." She uses the cuff of her coat heaped up beside her, to swipe away at her chin and shivers. Nicky curls her lips snugly, in defeat; a warm glow behind her cheeks. "You okay?" The taller woman asks, still exposed. "Jus' cold, s'all."

"C'mere." Nicky smiles to pull Lorna closer and caress her palms and fingers around her small body. "You know, if you wanna get warmer, survival 101 says you gotta take your clothes off to warm up even faster." Lorna scoffs. "Y'know, you can just say "take your clothes off," you don't gotta get all practical with ya words."

"Hey, it's serious tactic fact here, Lorn. Frieda told me." Nicky chuckles. "If they're wet, they draw all the insulated heat away from your body, so… You seem pretty wet to me." She husks, the rasp on her voice provoking Lorna to roll her hips forward. "Lemme warm you up." The taller woman soothes, until they entangle into an intimate kiss, that soon easily at a time, results in a loss of more clothing. As legs entwine, Nicky's phone violently vibrates in the pocket of her coat, now crumpled up on the floor. "Shit." The pair simultaneously muffle and murmur. Nicky messily scoops up the winter jacket, that lies alongside many other pieces of their property, and sluggishly retrieves the intruding device. "Oh, shit. It's Red." She states; her eyes smugly glinting down into Lorna's, with the brunette's legs tightly clinging around her back as the phone crackles in her right ear. "Ma? Yeah cause' we're stuck in our car, engine cut out and we're snowed in, couldn't call you, got a bad signal. Can you hear me? Yeah-yeah, I know. I dunno, man, about an hour and twenty? Yeah, it's freezing, pretty sure my ass has got frostbite. Why am I breathing so much? Cause' I…I'm…Fucking cold." Nicky pants; they both hold in stifles of laughter in their awkwardly positioned situation. "Sorry. Lorna's fine. Just south of Plane Street, y'know where Jack's is? Yeah that dingy bar you got shit faced in last year. Yeah - I'm just pulling a comical number, _jeez_ … Okay. Thank you, mommy." She hangs up and drops her phone to revisit her coat on the floor, uninterested in how it lands. Instead, she leans in to soak up that sweet ambience of Lorna's scent that swells around her smooth neck. The smaller woman twitches when she feels Nicky's cool, hoarse breath tingle over her naked skin. Her breath reaches up to the lobe of Lorna's ear, when she takes her nose and devious lips close to whisper "Alex and Piper are coming for us. But we'll be waiting forty minutes for 'em, and it looks like we've got a little business to go down on first."


	7. Table Turned

**Disclaimer:** I don't own OITNB or its characters.

 **Summary:** Pure angst. Don't blame me, blame... Anon who requested it. A written take on the table scene in season 4 episode 9. With a little more dialogue, I guess.

 **Author's Note:** So, it was really the end of September I last updated this... I'm glad I've gotten back to writing prompts - they're much easier and less sophisticated than writing big ass fics (don't worry, yes I'm still writing ITMOI also). If you have a prompt, inbox me on here or tumblr, I'm still taking them! Anyway, enjoy. Feedback/kudos is appreciated, thank you for it all and your patience so far.

* * *

Collectively, each of them at some point followed by the other had noticed at breakfast. It didn't take strenuous efforts to put two and two together of what was being demonstrated at their table. Usually chatty, unstoppably crude and full of witty eye-rolling remarks; their occasionally loudest companion remained unusually silent this morning. Alex and Piper merely exchanged glances between each other now and then. Questions, Nicky considered, rising from their shrugged shoulders and almost-pouting lips as if they'd suffered some short-term memory loss since their little adventure in the corn crops yesterday. She didn't bother to look up and lock eye contact with the pair in the slightest, after all, no one got her into this combustion but herself. Even still, their predictably simultaneous surreptitious peeps with vibrancy of ill-at-ease radiating from them, irked the heavy-headed and lost looking blonde friend to the point where couldn't refrain from an unshared, questionable brow raise.

It was understandable why neither of them wanted to intently or accidentally draw attention. It was slightly puzzling how they attempted to behave like nothing was perceiving them. Even so, it was something Nicky was secretly grateful for. They break off into a role-playing conversation on the topic of burgers, milkshakes, and massages. By that point, Nicky was dazed from even the titchiest ounce of bother she could barely manage to care for and had tuned her ears out long since.

It was Lorna, the blonde could sense, who was beginning to gain a grasp of it. Between mouthfuls of what ever boiled up loaf of alien-looking food, she often started to stare, and those stares were followed by frowns and scowls. She tends to give in and bite the bullet.

"Hey there." Lorna starts, giving the opposite woman a tap on the arm. Disrupted from her numb and senseless train of thought, Nicky's eyelids strain half open to allow a half-hearted glimpse at the perturbed brunette. "You're really being a bit of a _downer_." She remains in gloom and unfazed by Lorna's melodious and almost zestful take on pointing out her obvious down come. That does not, however, lead her to stray from an unmoved apology. "I'm sorry." There's a pause before she continues, "is my mood not up to your standards?" The brunette's relaxed facial tone switches upon comprehending Nicky's inflection of words.

"No one asked you to plop yourself down right in front of me." Lorna binks and twitches her head dumbfounded, although, she presses on to keep her ground. "I'm sitting here cause' we're… All friends." She gestures out the matter-of-fact to Piper and Alex, whom now wander their eyes around the canteen or remain eyeing up the ill-favored life resource sitting in the pale trays below them. Keeping their contact anywhere but on the pair who're instigating in the margin towards an argument. Nicky responds off the bat; with the query that's been sitting on her chest long enough to gain rupture and discomfort to their disrupted commitment. She shrugs, "is that what we are now?"

"You need to stop blaming me for finding someone, hon." Lorna protests rather sympathetically. Her eyes soften ever so slightly to directly address Nicky's shut off slump. The blonde, however, takes the tone as a grain of patronization. It marks her cue to flicker her mascara-coated lids shut and clump more of the yellow locks through her trembling fingers. "Mm'hmm," she murmurs, a distinct indication of disinterest. "It's not like my feelings for you just went away." Nicky head lifts up; her eyes now wide open to fixate on the brunette after her meaningless statement. There's a beat. "But _I_ didn't just jump into the first pair of mookie pants that came along."

Not strictly accurate, nor argumentative, but Nicky didn't hesitate to let that one slip. Surpassing any brood or inclination of shame in presenting her green eyes - it's out of her depth, and at the very least hypocritical, but she's utterly in farce and facing defeat. _Already defeated, quite potentially._ Her personal, unintentional turn of attitude isn't surprising to herself. That's the junkie attitude. She was self-deprived of her usual artificial play-along because today was not a day she could allow herself to go by with. Her impulses screamed louder, blood pumped and throbbed and bones grew restless. It was flat and distasteful, but at least Lorna couldn't wriggle her way out of something laid out so bold. Or so, she thought.

Taken aback albeit flustered, Lorna's brows furrow and she glares in realization. Her voice grows sterner and slightly more demanding. "Look, I have no idea what you did…" Something like disappointment entwines her tone. "But you sure as fuck did something cause' you can't keep your head up right now."

"Don't try to change the subject." Nicky slurs. She straightens up, scoffing and shutting out any interest in even remotely addressing the subject of her short fall off the wagon. Completely aware of how she looks with a nervous sweat and clammy, pale skin, she doesn't allow it to intrude expressing her truthful instinctive thoughts onto Lorna.

"Nicky…" Piper interrupts, timidly chewing at the inside of her cheek when she does so. She nervously scratches at her neck beneath the collar of her cheap, small percentage of cotton made, prison issued khaki. Laying out her concern and ignoring an opposed glance from the black falcon-haired ex-lover opposite from her, "maybe you guys should-"

"No, no." The blonde croaks in oppose. Not bothering to turn by instead simply waving her hand away in Piper's direction to quieten her up. Alex's mouth twitches into a small lift whilst sending Piper a stern look. A look that reads ' _I told you so.'_

"You wanna know why I'm in a downer, Morello?" There's a rough cough and the brunette is left spleen; she formulates calculations in her brain as to where Nicky was headed. It wouldn't take the brightest bulb in the bunch to summarize a conclusion and during reading, there's a niggling urge to get up and leave. She hastily disposes the urge and retreats to the larger proportion of her that's absurdly stunned and intrigued by this unexpected presentation.

"Sorry, ugh, Muccio? What is it these days?" A disingenuous, thin smirk accompanies her impractical carbonated-like tonality. Lorna fails to muster up a comeback, and only responds by tightening her chest and swallowing thickly. "It's been like months, I mean… How do you even meet someone? Let alone…" She already heard enough.

"Okay – stop it."

"Get married?"

"Stop it, stop it!"

A flash of exhaust and disgust translates from Nicky's orbs. A sickly, bile taste erupts Lorna's throat. She could've sworn she gained the attention of possible tens of fellow inmates within the canteen, as well as Alex and Piper – who're now glaring apprehensively in revelation.

" _You_ left." The brunette spits. It's a release to let out the cognizance of the debate, no matter how much it boils her insides. " _You_ were the one who left, alright?" A fraudulent smile tends to aside her next sentence. It's almost pitiful; absurd what her own eyes were witnessing. "I didn't know if you were coming back. And it's _your_ fault, because _you_ love heroin more than you loved _me_." Her uncontainable rage vents out before she'd even managed to construct the words sufficiently and she assumed at best that her point had beamed across, only until she's met with a grunt of a response.

"You're full of shit." Nicky grumbles. "We all know it. You know it, so why don't you stop with this pitiable, desperate make-believe bullshit you enforce into your and our heads? Hell..." There's an enthusiastic scoff. Her words are slurred, and eyes remain droopy, but she's far from finished. Neither is the latter. "The fuck are you talking about?" Lorna hisses. She's cut off instantaneously. "Oh, you know what I'm talking about –"

"No!" The brunette ferociously yells; her petite body leaning over to spew her decline. "You got in Max. You got back to drugs, and it's _your_ fault. What did you expect us to do, huh? Cry over you? Pick up your fucking pieces? Well, it's not gonna happen. You could've gone to Red, you could've come to me, but you were too busy high out of your skull. And it's on _you_ , Nicky. So, stop acting like I owe you something when you pushed me out." Her voice begins to tremble and turn thick. The tears are yet to threaten her eyes, though she feels the build-up becoming dangerously closer.

"For your information…" Nicky's hefty eyes roll. The false presumed accusations were sickeningly nauseating. Her blood boils and head pounds. This had to be over with - otherwise cold turkey would be the only option left on the table. "I was clean at the time, you peanut-brained, fickle-hearted _whore_. So…"

The words seethe through her teeth, her veins pulsate ferociously and her heart thumps heavily. Maybe it was out of tiredness, spite, or purity of rage. It's a pointless consideration between the three as the lines soon become fazed and fuzzy; Alex and Piper eyeball in disapproval, shame and almost disappointment. Lorna is stilled – nothing more she can do than glare. She appears frozen in composure as the redness of her lips tweak and nostrils flare. Nicky marks her queue to leave, until –

"So," Nicky dreads as a familiar thick accent sounds. Red approaches with a crisp beam and proud stance. Her powerful mixed features of bold dignity and sharpness look almost overtaken by the warmness of her cheeks. She looks as if in battle with holding back a gleeful laugh of her apparent happiness. "How is everyone, hmm?" Red wonders with her smile still present.

"Oh, you know." Piper takes the query. "Pretty awesome." She responds with the pinch of extreme sarcastic enthusiasm. All the while, Nicky can still sense Lorna's eyes piercing onto her. Her back straightens and eyes roll as she remains being passive-aggressively monitored. Sensing the difficult tension withheld in the air, the mother figure shifts concerned and unconvinced glimpses with each seated member. Her sharp brows quirk up in a questionable manner in her favourite daughter's direction. There was something _off_.

Red needn't be concerned, nor even questionably amused for much longer. Lorna takes a stance. She rises from her place – without breaking her peer to indirectly address the Russian chef and alert some awareness. "She's on drugs, Red." Her monotone, vacant and tired tone slips. The blonde was over the line and out of her bound. The brunette distinctly knew she had only one option of getting her back in the way it stung the most.

The red-haired woman sank with realization. Her soft eyes now grazed with anxiety, fury, grief and perception through the blonde's strange and child-like response. Nicky does an unfulfilled, weak attempt of coaxing over her unusual state. "Oh, god." She exclaims, sighing and scoffing, rolling her eyes and twirling her hair. She's a tot caught with stolen candy. Her head falls back into her open palm; shaking into it embarrassed and defeated, she shoots Lorna a cold scowl.

"Just take a look at her. She's smacked out of her guard."

Red's features wipe clean. Only her instinctive thoughts are left to kick in as a failed mother. Nothing said, or anything said would plummet to make any minor difference. The brunette is stranded only to exchange very brief eye contact between Alex and their prison mother. Waiting for a much-expected routine of singling out, a slap to the head or even any implication of a small scolding, she's instead met with the sound of uneasy silence and hefty emits of vexation from Nicky.

"What, are we all gonna pretend this isn't happening?" She demands incisively. Red simply turns on her feet and strolls away. No glow of telling off for later, or even slight chunter under her breath to remain behind. It feels as if everything took place in Lorna's head for an instant. The Italian woman scoffs in irritation for her lack of support and confrontation.

"Sounds like a yes." Alex helplessly points out.

It takes a short while for Nicky to process everything. The outburst, the turn of events, the ignition of short-tempered looks of rage shared. Once it does, she's second to rise from her place. One last pitiful combined look of mixed victory and defeat is transmitted at Lorna as she leaves. No words are spoken as the brunette plops back down in her chair. Confinement, anger and hurt cluster her thoughts and shower her mood. Everyone remains in silence.


	8. Close

**Summary:** Lorna just wants to keep the moment.

 **Author's Note:** It's been a while, but I haven't abandoned you _(anyone that's still reading...)_ Here's a very breif installment before I dive back into the deep end!

* * *

"Stay. Just - just stay there. For a moment." Lorna whines between petite pants and the static whiteness behind her eyelashes.

"Huh?" Nicky's messy head rises from beneath the sheets; her eyes droopy, breath short and lips slightly parted. It takes a minute for the murky-blonde's face to register in focus, once Lorna opens her eyes. She's unaware if that's the results of her profoundly dazed mind, or if that's what Nicky actually looks like having emerged from her seemingly favourite spot. Alas, she's too preoccupied in recovery from her senses, to care long enough about that.

Her wet lips form into a small grin, once the image of Nicky's brow readjusts. The blonde's orbs blink slowly while she responds with a weary smile of her own.

"Um... Elaborate, kid?" She hefts. "Just..." Lorna begins again. "Just stay there. I wanna jus' stay like this for a moment."

Nicky blinks and ponders. "What'd you mean? Like, with my hand still inside you?" She slowly withdraws her fingers, instigating a sulky moan from the brunette.

"Yeah."

"Oh..." Nicky recoils; a gentle force feels from her lower back that wills her in gently, as Lorna's legs slightly engulf her closer.

"I just wanna feel you again. In me. Just for a little bit."

"Oh." Nicky repeats, more seductively than questionable. She sinks lower to return a heated kiss at the hum of Lorna's core, before slowly sliding two fingers back in place to the mellow sound of a murmur. Unsure if that time it even came from Lorna as she feels herself drip like a pool wave hitting the pit of her gut.

"I love you." Nicky mentions, tired and croaky in a casual reminder that has the distinctive ability to create a sensual shiver through Lorna's bones from the welcome burn that Nicky hisses - imprints into her yearning skin.

Unintentionally, she responds by jolting her hips. She manages an "I love you too," through gritted teeth; knowing it's probably not long until she falls into a melted bliss again.


	9. Vanilla Coke & an Animal Bar

**Summary:** Nicky returns from medical.

 **Author's Note:** Here's a short one I finished today. Hope it satisfies. In the meantime, keep sending prompts if you have any.

* * *

"So, I said, you know, Jason don't try to steal the fuckin' limelight on my eggplant joke, when you've already fucked me over for three bumps. So I go, an I say, that cap you've got constantly moulded onto your head twenty-four fucking seven is, the reason Jade and Drew don't hang around with you anymore like I do, cause they're embarrassed about the fucking developing bald spot on your head that's starting to reflect moonlight when you finally do take that shit off!" Barbara breaks into hoarse laughter, as the two enter the populated social and designated eating area of D-Block on their return from medical.

"You know, you fucking make me spit my rubs, Nicky baby. You're like Bart Simpson without the skateboard and sling shot, but with a vagina." Her grin widens, baring those shiny egg-yolk tainted teeth Nicky finds herself staring at each time she involuntarily ears a chuckle from the latter.

"Uh…Sure." She smiles, thinly. Keeping a proud, small nod to herself in success from the rules of her strictly straight and narrow book. Nothing wrong with a little self-pride. The blonde looks Barb in the eye, firm and friendly when the elder takes her by the shoulders.

"You really cleared my head, you know. It's like…Now I'm actually at a realisation in here." She taps the side of her temple mindfully. "I've been so blinded by all the shit my cunt-of-a-sister, fucking Carol, and her cunt-block bitches have been smearing in my eyes, that I forgot that they've been calling the fucking shots for too long. You wiped the shit out of my eyes, Nicky." She offers a warm embrace that a wide-eyes Nicky begrudgingly finds herself in. The blonde smiles, appreciative and ajar awkward by their sudden developed, kindred friendship.

"Well, if it wasn't for your diabolical freak-out, and, uh, mild case of pteronarcophobia, I guess my association and self-made cure for some _very few_ instances of hallucinations, trippy paranoia, anxiety from some very _wild_ highs back in the day, wouldn't have come into play. See, I knew all those downward spirals of depression would've come into good use somehow, somewhere. I'm glad to see you back from the pit."

Close-by, sitting and toying around with a hairbrush, Annalisa peers in. Both ears and eyes disconnect to the ramble that Daddy and Daya juggle on but ingest the near conversation, that more or less emit a green glow from the sharpness of her jealous stare.

"Last time I go anywhere near that shit after some laced, attempted assassination from a psycho cunt." Barb ponders; arms folded and posture straight like sudden knowledge of which _particular_ psycho finally managed to hit through the sober cells of realisation in her brain. She shakes her head, followed by an eye-roll, and what Nicky swears was a lip-read of the word _"motherfuck."_

In gesture of 'anyways', the queen-pin unfolders her arms, returning her focus to Nicky, now slightly urging to rest the pounding that rackets through her freshly bruised ribs.

"If you need me for anything. You know where to come." Barb says. Almost slyly, like a shop-keeper handing out candy to their favourite customer. Nicky responds with nothing short of a thankful smile and salute as they break apart.

With a lip-smack and sulky pout, Annalisa shifts round at her surrounded table. Leaning forward, she chunters a petty "look who's back," with a head nod in direction of Barbara's approach. "Holy shit." Daddy says, coolly. Lorna catches a glimpse of Nicky, dozily shuffling to her cell in tire. "Oh, my God!" She pipes. A combo of excite and end to whatever fear she silently condensed.

The blonde catches a familiar gleam approach her, before yanking her into a tight hug that her aching bones yearn release from. She winces and scrunches her eyes, only leaving a small sigh of appreciation to the expecting mother. "Alright, alright, kid, thanks, you know, nothing but the same to you too, but I'm kind of, uh…In some pain here." Lorna breaks the hug to observe Nicky's face and locates the clean, purple patch that's evolved around her left eye. "Oh, look what happened to you." She whines, pouting sadly and worrisome – one hand resting on growing hump in her womb. "Yeah, well…" Nicky mumbles, stretching her neck to a side to earn a small click, "can't say I'm unfamiliar to this kind of…Square-up, rib-kick from girls almost double my torso height, but um…It has been a while since private school." She comments, leaving a weak smile on her lips.

"Oh honey, what happened? I was worried about you." Lorna wonders, tracing her thumb on the outline of her bruise that Nicky instantly flinches away from. The blonde hesitates a little. "I was helping out a good fellow artificially inseminate herself in the library to achieve a much wanted, mini eyebrow of her own."

"You…" Lorna starts to repeat; her face visibly trying figure out the words that came out like a failed, crude joke. The latter continues on. "So, then, you know, a bunch of ninjas in blue found us and, um, decided the test the strength of my temple with a wide variety of hardbacks doubled up in one-kay, or more pages." She cracks a wide grin.

"See, I told you those cunt-blockers were no good-ers, Nicky. They're sneaky, and thieving, and use their good jobs to fuck with us –"

"Uh-huh"

"Does it hurt all over." Lorna softly asks, fiddling with the fingers on Nicky's left hand.

"Um, I'd say about a strong nine-point-seven rating out of ten, from my right hip upwards to the fog of depression in my head, but, you know…" Her shoulders rise and fall in exhale.

"Long as I get to see your precious sweet cheeks around here, it could always be worse." Lorna replies with grin and small tilt forward with her chin, that Nicky always sees as some weird method just to smell – see if she really exists there and then. She always found it cute in some ways. Everyway.

"They'd probably even take down a pregnant lady, if they could." The brunette pouts with a mellow, and unforgiving tone in her voice.

"Okay, well, first of all, no one's gonna do that, so chill. Secondly, you clearly don't need inseminating, so we wouldn't be –"

"Oh, my God!"

"What the hell?"

"It's happening again!" Lorna beams excitedly, hands pressed on her pushed out khaki.

"Lorna, you can't just randomly screech things out, come on, man, you're gonna get a shot!" The brunette hurriedly takes Nicky by the hand and presses it to a space above her belly-button. "You feel it?!" She asks, a smile splitting her face.

"Holy shit…That's…"

"His little foot!" She cries, like a happy child in the puppy section of the pet store. Despite the blotted pain of throbbing bruises pulsing around her face when she so much as twitches, the blonde fails to hold the leash on a gentle smile that manages to slip its way through.

"Little lasagne just found an obstacle course in there, huh?" Lorna giggles, feeling one kick, two kick…Maybe a third and a fourth, as does an overwhelmed Nicky, each time the foetus makes contact with her palm.

"Jesus, she's really throwing some punches in there. It's attack of the kitten. That's a life in there, kid."

"Oh, Nicky, I'm so happy." She announces, in that overly emotional whimper Nicky recognises all too well. "Know what? This calls for celebratory pit-stop. Hey, Deitland, uh, I'd like to make an order please, thank you." Deitland approaches and shrugs, picking up her clipboard to mark off a list of products. "I'd like two Vanilla Cokes and maybe one of those little Nestle Animals Bars, if you would, thank you."

"As much as I appreciate the… _Celebratory_ effort…An Animal Bar? Like, a single one? 'Sides, I'm not really craving chocolate." The mother expresses almost gassy-like, as she rubs circles on her stomach.

"More like something icy, or canned corn, or pickles and salt."

"Man, you're so fucking weird."

"Oh please, you love it." Lorna side-eyes.

"Anyway, it's not for you, it's for the baby!" Nicky gestures, taking her products from Deitland and shifting to an empty table, groaning while she sits. Smiling, Lorna shakes her head. "Well, I suppose, Kitten thanks you anyway, it's only manners." She swiftly unwraps the foil, and begins chomping, muttering strings of dialogue with her mouth full. "Mmh…It's really good!" She emphasises, much with the blonde's bemusement. "You're welcome." She says, opening her bottle and receiving a small wave from Barbara by her cell. Lorna notices.

"Ah, look at you, warming up to the boss."

"Yeah, saw her in medical. Swapped some war stores. She's cool. Helping her stay sober." She takes a sip; waves back.

"N'aw, you help artificial _in-sem-an-ate_ people, you buy snacks, you're staying sober…" Lorna takes her firmly by the hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "And now I'm sat here. Two bottles of Vanilla Coke and an Animal Bar. Celebrating Kitten's little kicking."

The blonde smiles to herself. Out loud, it sounds sad. A cling on to those daft little moments that keep you occupied and focused on things that barely matter. Except they do. To her. And clearly to Lorna, as depicted by the soft glint in her eyes that prove she cherished the moment between them. It's funny, stupid – but worthwhile all the same. Even if her guts feel stretched and tangled from a series of fist-punches.

"You want me to ask Daddy for something for your bruises, she got all sorts of things."

"Well, I don't persist on being one of his little Oxy side-hoes, plus I'm not that naive, or desperate for now, so uh, _nah_ , I'm good. Think I'll ride this one out. But thanks, kid." Lorna smugly smirks, placing her hand back to where a series of small punches begin to strike.

"Looks like little Kitten's got my back on that one too." Nicky observes, feeling like a proud dad.

 _Weird,_ she thinks.


	10. Irresistible

**Summary:** Nicky and Lorna try to work through some frustrations (set 5x07).

 **Author's Note:** I got prompted this, and I wasn't sure how to go about it but I thought I'd give it a shot anyway. still not sure how I feel about it, but I hope you enjoy it. Feel free to leave thoughts. I have another fic I am working on in the meantime and I'll get on with making some more GIFs. Another shoutout to Aspen and Jenn on Twitter, you guys are great to talk to! And shoutout to cle1etecl on Reddit, I didn't want to message you since I'm probably bothersome, but if you're reading this, thank you for your feedback!

* * *

"Nicky –" Lorna muses with gritted teeth. Her hands flair for something to keep hold of, when they find their way to the blonde's fresh new cut, kind and smoothly kempt into ragged bun on top of her head. Her left hand smooths up Nicky's arms, fingers scrambling in both lust and frustration to locate a zipper somewhere on her back while the woman with her unspoken bitterness and rage growls into Lorna's neck – fingers pressed into her thighs.

Nicky had sat her on the countertop in one of paperwork-deserted areas of the pharmacy in the fumbling blur of the animalistic effect that had seemingly sprung them both. She bites down on her own tongue; figures it was definitely this tight, black dress clinging to the curves of her body she'd forgot she had. With Lorna it was…Who knows? Maybe the eye in her mind seeking out the brunette's irresistible urge of refusal to keep her hands to herself. She doesn't allow her hurt to dissolve in the lick of thirst to bring her lips closer to the creamy skin of Lorna's collarbone – not yet, anyway. A groan hisses from the brunette's teeth that Nicky captures by pressing her lips to hers; hard and sloppy, like she wants to make a painting with her tongue.

The blonde breaks the kiss, steps a foot away and breathes heavily through jumbled pants. "Would you keep it down?" She says. There's a bleakness that meets the grumble in her tone. "I don't exactly want us to be the centre of attention to some Peeping Tom."

They groggily shuffle further into the corner, stepping over the crumpled lab coat in a heap on the floor. Without exchanging words, Nicky takes the lead again – a role she's familiar to, and mews a hum when Lorna's palms latch onto her chest. She squeezes and pulls before retreating to locate the zipper again as Nicky cooly freezes, like the stone-cold expression embarked on her face.

"Still gonna say it's the hormones, huh?" Her lipstick-smeared cheeks flush from the wave of heat that travels to her pelvic muscles. The hurt she'd contained for the last few hours begin to bubble and unravel as her eyes lock onto a guilty looking Lorna – unable to glance her directly in the eye.

"I wouldn't say it just to hurt you, ho—"

Nicky cuts her off sharpish with another lustful kiss. Sick from the stabbing knife twisting a hole in her chest, she uses the sudden movement to mask the pain. She decides to cry to her soul later when all that's left is the self-shame and infuriating disappointment within the deep corners of her mind and conscience.

Another moan escapes from Lorna, still engulfed by the familiar tongue which explores her mouth. She's sure for a minute that the raging touching had ended and the two of them had melted into the white, hot heat of a lingering kiss that leaves her needing to readjust for a second. When the blonde next breaks away, Lorna almost chuckles at the red stain that had found its way both on her nose and rubbed all the way down her chin. Instead she's stilled and staring and, in some certain _deep questioning_ by the complex equations of just how much that look – along with Nicky's doleful, yet sharp eyes, makes her want to tightly cross her legs in need of yearning friction.

Everything was so **_confusing_**. The tiny puzzle pieces in the corners of Lorna's mind alert another ministration of questioning that she'd have to answer for herself later. But then, at least Nicky would be equally confused by the calculations too? She considers while the fuzziness of her vision field fades and the sight of Nicky's devious, hazed complexion return to her senses. In this instant, she decides to decide that she is angry and that she should be equally allowed to ask all the questions. Because that's how their thing works, doesn't it? The push and pull had never been this bold – nor literal, in a sense, but she still bites down on her tongue, drawing blood as she continues to murmur at the feel of Nicky's breasts in her palms while remembering all the reasons and rights she has to be fuming right now.

"I thought you said you weren't gonna do this again?" She asks, pressing her lips to the centre of her chest, lavishing red imprints from the shape of her lips onto her skin.

"You're the one throwing yourself at me." Nicky hisses, lurching forward and clenching onto fistfuls of Lorna's khakis when the brunette's fingers leave her chest and roam to tug firmly at the roots on her head. Thin strands of hair slip down to tickle Nicky's shoulders and her heavy panting ghosts gushes of heat onto Lorna's neck while they lock eyes – an unsureness meeting their gaze.

"Could say the same thing about you." Lorna mumbles. Her hands move and stop to rest at Nicky's hips. There's no judge planted in her tone, however Nicky still translates the statement as personally demeaning.

"It – it's like you say one thing and mean the fucking other," she stammers, taking a sober, serious second to evaluate their frustrations amongst their current situation.

"I didn't mean to get pregnant, it just –"

Nicky intrudes harshly by stuttering gibberish, she tightly purses her lips in pursuit of _'you're not pregnant, I don't wanna hear it'_ and her mind screams the words so loud, she's certain there's steam bursting out from her ears.

"I just…" Lorna starts again, rephrasing her words from the beginning like the scratching of a needle from a record player. "I can't cheat on Vinnie. Not when he's real."

"You're cheating on him right now." Now that was harsh, and Nicky knows it. Much proved by the way Lorna pushes her back with a force, she's almost tripping over her Converse. The brunette shrivels up on the countertop; a small dog that's found guilty after creating a pigsty.

Now Nicky feels like shit. Gushed and in need of a serious cool-down session – until she decides to twist the knife a little more. Just a dinky bit closer to get the brunette to understand the throbbing pain that continues to rip a larger hole in her chest and damage her heartstrings. "So, what? I'm not real? I'm just your little pocket rocket to help you touchdown. Oh, wait, wait, wait, I get it." A strained, broad grin stretches her lips, "you've got all that guilt making you wanna throw-up – certainty not by the circumstance of some foetus you _think_ you have swimming around in there, by the way, and this is you coping with it. Yeah." Her throat tightens to the sound of a snaky laugh she forced out. Maybe she's going too far, but she still has something to say. "No, I get it, princess. I scratched your back, you scratch mine, huh? You gotta make it up to someone, and you can't let your secrets spill to poor Vinnie, _soo…_ I guess I was second best, right?" Her tone is dull, repetitive and bleak with exhaustion in the last part of her rant. " _No surprise there_. _"_

Lorna's distraught, dispelled and looking like she's on a verge of bawling. Her eyes are blocked by the hand she has brought to her forehead in the name of shame. "That's not what I'm sa—" is all she manages, before her words quickly turn into blubs in a meltdown of silent, salty tears making Nicky want to cower into a corner in self-hate.

She wants to scoop her up, kiss away her sorrow and promise her _it's okay._

 _You hurt me, and you don't love me, but that couldn't make me go away. I know you need me. For a backrub, a hug, maybe a fuck, until you're gone, and I'm gone and all we have left in ourselves is the words we fret to voice – well, you, anyway. And that's okay. Because at the end of all of this on our paths into different worlds, there's no hard feelings. Even if you're living your best possible life and I'm staring into the bottom of a glass of drink in an old apartment, with empty rooms and too many bedrooms for one person paid off by my pitying father. It's okay._

She steps forward to cup Lorna's face; getting her to pick up her chin and _look at me_ , careful not to shed the tears that dare to drop of her own. The second she does, she takes her soft, trembling red lips and puts them to her own.

It's a small kiss; chaste, tender and a little sweet. So much so, that the blonde sort of wishes it lasted longer when Lorna drops her head, burying her it under Nicky's chin and snaking her hands back around Nicky's back. She looks into the blonde's eyes again, desperately quick to search for approval in which Nicky accepts; firm and short, with one small nod.

Her dress slides down to her ankles, quickly followed by her underwear and bra. Before deciding to move, Lorna has to pause for a moment, coming to a realisation.

"Oh, Nicky, I don't think…I've never seen you before. Not-not all of y—"

"Well, here's all of me." She mutters, suddenly feeling timid and awkward by the attention drawn to the pair of eyes roaming from the scar on her chest to her kneecaps, and finding herself wanting to say,

 _Take a long look at it all._

Her skin is grazed with invisible lashes, to the real, faded scares that mark her arm fossa from needlepoint, to the tiny engrain that imprints her right cheek. Deciding she'd had enough before they even began whatever they were going to do, she begins to redress, sensing her fury had tamed and that, really, both of them were too exhausted and beat-down to…Hate fuck?

Nicky almost splutters a laugh as the two words slip into her mind.

 _More like disappointment fuck, perhaps._

"Eh-hem." The voice of a familiar figure sounds, leaning by the doorframe with crossed arms and small but devilish smile on her lips. "I didn't want to interrupt but I thought it would be nice of me to mention that you kind of left this wide open." Alex chuckles, gesturing to the door.

"Jesus **_Christ_** , Vause!" Nicky finds herself yelling while finishing to slip her arms into her dress. "Thought I asked you earlier if anyone taught you to knock." Lorna scowls in Alex's direction, attempting to scoot herself further into the corner.

"I'm not staying to watch the fun." Alex says, defending herself through an apologetic smile. "Don't worry, kids, I'm going, I just wanted to let you know, and now I'll be on my way. I've got a super-hot frisky blonde, who also literally smells like a burnt Cheeto, waiting for me somewhere, so, I'll leave you guys to it." She winks, turning on her feet to walk in the opposite direction.

"No need." Nicky says, to Alex, but more so to herself. "I think we're done here anyway." She turns to give Lorna a weak, sympathetic smile and says "look, I'll see you later, kid," before the brunette can reply, she's following Alex's footsteps. Feeling like an ant crawling back into a lion's den.


End file.
